Driving in Paris (& various other things)

Jan 2nd
10:40AM
My first official 2008 entry—it’s been a strange few days. After spending a long New Years weekend in Bretagne, I’m sitting on a couch in a Paris photo studio. Unfortunately Victoria’s Secret hasn’t asked Morgane and Zoe for their expertise yet. Les Composantes (Z & M) have been asked to do test shots for a hotel company’s worldwide ad campaign. So instead of scantily clad women I get to watch “hotel workers” in various poses holding bags and keys as well as all the free croissants I can eat (that's a big boo-yeah, Jay).
So far my biggest accomplishment here has been successfully traversing the streets of Paris in a car. The highways and country roads were a breeze. Driving in Paris is exciting in a nerve-wracking way. I don’t know how it feels to complete in the X-Games but I think driving in Paris might be the closest I’ll get to the X-Games. In all seriousness, even though it’s pretty exciting to drive around the traffic circle at Place de Republique or past the Louvre on the rue de Rivoli, it’s still just driving. Geography (and time) is the only difference between turning onto rue des Batignolles today and learning to turn in Southside’s parking lot with my dad twelve years ago. I doubt he ever thought I would end up using those driving lessons to traverse Paris (especially in a car with two girls and forty pounds of equipment for a photo shoot).
Reading signs in a different language and having signs of different shapes than in the U.S. are two challenges while driving here. However, the biggest challenge has been the stop lights. In the United States you see the lights out in front of you and your gaze is therefore always directed slightly upwards to observe the possible light change. In Paris the lights are always on the left and right of the street at the crosswalk. So instead of stopping with the light out in front of you (and across the street), you have it directly beside you. This is an obvious problem for me. On multiple occasions I’ve come to a stop just past the light, forcing me to crane my neck slightly backwards to monitor the change to green. If I’m more than a second to slow in moving forward, there is always a polite (read frantic) flash of lights behind me or a series of honks to inform me it’s time to go. Luckily for my passengers and me, I’ve only accidentally run two lights (I think). For the most part though I’ve corrected my problem, making it from the Marais to the 17th (the photo shoot is just a block away from where I stayed this summer) this morning without breaking any traffic laws.
Initially my reaction to the lights was “this is stupid.” After giving it some thought I realized it has two fairly distinct advantages. First (and perhaps foremost for the French) is the aesthetic advantage. In a place like Paris it makes more sense to have lights that blend in with the surroundings instead of hulking over them. Secondly it forces the driver to keep their gaze slightly towards the street sides. Paris has a large pedestrian population so the light placement seems logical to help ensure the safety of the citizens.
Enough about driving—Bretagne was an interesting experience. I was a little thrown off by the music at selection at the “party.” I use the quotations because it was a somewhat small affair (especially in comparison with the castle’s size) and was similar to a Junior High dance. For instance, there was the initial milling around in nervous clusters, a large room (much like a cafeteria) that was more than half empty, and the music playlist featured a heavy dose of music from circa 1997 (Blue, Genie in a Bottle, Mr. Jones) instead of circa 2007. All of which of course sent me back to memories of sweaty palms
(on the girls, I was calm and confident teenager), nervous hopefulness, and bad finger foods. Luckily Morgane had dry hands, I had a bemused sense of confidence, and the food was amazing. And to top it off the doubts I had about the French taste in music were straightened out. On two different occasions I was informed that they (the younger people there) had nothing to do with the music choice. In the end the party, just like the old dances, evolved into something beyond apprehension. School dances relied on sugar highs to hop the kids up enough to overcome their nerves. As adults (I use the term loosely), we get much better alternatives, namely wine (which I guess also helped them get over their disdain for the music).
In closing the marathon New Year’s post, I’ll finish with two notes on the town of Rennes and revert to age 15 once again for more comments on French toilets. Beginning with the latter, I had heard countless stories from Chill about the horrible things he witnessed while traveling in Asia. So it was with some disbelief that I came across a rest stop toilet on Auto-route 11 outside of Paris that was nothing more than a hole in the ground. As I took in the spectacle I realized the “toilet” even had handle bars stuck into the wall (Is one to presume they are for the handicapped?). Adding to my disbelief and confusion was that Zoe and Morgane were so shocked and suspicious of my claims. I felt like I was Dennis Kucinich (or Mayor Baker perhaps) trying to persuade people that there really was a UFO. I still haven’t wrapped my head completely around it.
And finally Rennes—it looked to be a marvelous city. We were able to spend a total of 3-4 hours there and with just that brief glimpse it’s a place I’d recommend (and like to see again). Lastly, as I looked at a menu in a restaurant, I noticed a phrase that didn’t make sense to me: “chèvre chaud au miel” The following conversation occurred between Morgane and me:
“It’s a honey cheese”
“A hot honey cheese salad?”
“Yes”
“Seriously?”
“Yes”
“Okay, well I’m definitely not having that.”
“No! It’s good. It’s one of my favorite things. You should get it.”
Well, I’m a sucker for a pretty face (and I’ll try any food once) so I went for it. What followed was a fairly basic salad with walnuts and balsamic vinaigrette topped with 4 squares. They were lightly fried, sealing in the hot honey goat cheese. It was a somewhat strange experience but I have to admit Morgane was right, hot honey cheese salad is tasty.
(We’re off to Lisbon tomorrow morning and will be back to Paris on the 11th.)